All Too Well
by wowstars
Summary: The tragic death of a well-loved patient leads Connie and Rita to bury their vendetta and allow themselves to grieve together. But when Rita finds herself developing deeper feelings for her boss, can they really overcome their past mistakes? Freechamp
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first casualty fic so please bear that in mind! It is also the first time I have used first person narrative so let me know how that is too. This fic is from Rita's POV, and might end up being fairly long but we'll see. This first chapter is more setting up the story than anything, but the second one will be up later today. Enjoy!**

 _Song for this chapter:_ _The Crane Wife 3 by The Decemberists_

I won't go from the very beginning. That would be ridiculous. There's too many insignificances, too many irrelevances. No, I'll start from the night which, in my mind, represented a monumental shift in our dynamic and our pathways. And the night itself was just as unexpected as its after-effects.

"Right we've got a female, GCS three, shocked twice, unable to intubate…"

I looked down at her clammy skin and pale features and knew instantly that this wasn't going to have the outcome I so desperately hoped for.

"Connie!" I shouted as we rushed past reception. She was stood there reading someone's notes wearing her usual high heels and impatient expression. When she heard my voice calling for her, however, that expression instantly dropped to one of panic. She knew that I would never ask for her assistance on just any old patient. She knew instantly what was happening.

Her name was Lena Hall and she was nineteen years old. We had treated her together before everything kicked off with Mark and Grace and everything else that had seemed to drag us into an ever deepening hatred. It wasn't as though we had ever had a particularly good relationship, but we tolerated each other for the purpose of our patients and we worked well together.

Lena had come in requiring stitches for a gaping wound in her left arm. Self inflicted, of course. Normally this would have been a procedure Connie considered to be beneath her, but it was a bad winter and we were stretched to breaking point so she had agreed to take a few of the more minor patients. However, a long wait for a psych consult and twenty-seven stitches meant that we spent a lot longer with her than we would have done, and eventually, together, we managed to coax her out of her shell and get her to talk to us. She had been in the care system since the was five after her father went to prison and her mother could no longer cope. As in the stereotype, she was tossed from home to home right up until her sixteenth birthday, when she was finally allowed to break free and care for herself. However, a stint in a home with an abusive mother and absent father in her early teens had left her with post-traumatic stress disorder, which had only worsened with each and every new family. Now she suffered from severe flashbacks, depression and bulimia, and was on a long waiting list for psychiatric care. As they always are.

Connie took an interest in the girl, which surprised me as before that time I would have said she had a heart only for her daughter. She managed to get her initial assessment date pushed forward and asked for regular updates on her welfare. Turned out she didn't need them. Lena was back again ten days later, with the same nature of injury.

It was a long six months where we treated her almost every week. Occasionally she came in herself. Most times it was in an ambulance, after her social worker had come to check on her and not received a response. Each and every week the both of us would ring around all the local wards to see if there was a bed for her in a hospital where she could get the full-time care and support she needed, and each and every week our calls were unsuccessful. Even Connie's influence couldn't free up a bed. There was always someone more urgent. But then one night she came in with an arterial bleed and a stomach full of aspirin and we knew then that we couldn't leave her on her own any longer. When she was out of theatre and beginning to come around, Connie and I went up to visit her on the short stay ward and sit with her for a while. We talked about what had happened and what was going to be done now. She asked us if we would come with her, and although by this point being in the same room as one another made our skin crawl, both of us said yes. Lena was the only thing we could ever cooperate on.

After twisting Guy's arm it was agreed that Connie and I would drive her down to Bristol, where we had found a psychiatric bed for her, and complete the handover ourselves. We both knew the patient well and were qualified. When we stopped half way for a break and toilet, we each turned a blind eye as she had a smoke. It was all we could allow her, really, as all her meals had to follow strict guidelines in line with her eating disorder treatment. When we arrived at the hospital, she told us she was scared and we sat with her for a good half an hour, reassuring her that everything would be okay and telling her that she should write to us at the hospital. She did, and every other week I would arrive at work to an already-opened envelope sitting on my desk. The letters, although addressed to the both of us, would always end up in Connie's pigeonhole and so she would read them first then leave them on my desk. We weren't speaking at that point.

A couple of months ago, she came to visit us in the ED. We got the fright of our lives when we first saw her, thinking the worst. But then she told us that she was on her second trial weekend back at home and that they were thinking of discharging her soon. We were both over the moon. We told her how proud of her we were and bought her a coffee and cake from the canteen as a celebration her being three months purge-free.

Since then both of us had seen her on a regular basis. We'd go out for a coffee or a meal every other weekend, and Connie and I would be civil, for her sake. The light was back in her eyes and her scars beginning to fade.

Now, however, as Connie and I glanced at the monitor at the side of us and then at each other, we knew deep down that that light was never coming back. I was on oxygen whilst Connie did chest compressions. Time had seemed almost stationary. Ethan, Robyn, and various other nurses were all rushing around us, administering adrenaline, setting up the defib, taking bloods, but we seemed to be still. Calm, even. Before we knew it, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed and it was only us putting up a fight now. I looked up with watery eyes at all their faces, looking at us with confusion as neither of us had heard them call for us to stop. I took a deep breath. I felt sick. Connie was still pounding away, oblivious to the defeat, her hair over her face and her breathing shallow. I didn't know what else to do. I reached out and tentatively placed my hand over hers, gently brushing my thumb against her knuckles in a comforting gesture and to encourage her to look at me.

"Connie," I said softly, so soft that the staff around us were unable to hear. Her head snapped up, throwing her hair off her face and her eyes met mine. They, too, were tearful and pleading with me that I continue, but I knew it was hopeless, and so did she. Her compressions slowed, became less forceful and rapid, and eventually stopped.

She was gone.

 **Please review and let me know what you think! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the feedback so far - keep it coming! It really does help to motivate me. The next chapter should be up fairly soon, hopefully! Enjoy x**

 _Song for this chapter: I Can't Take It by Tegan and Sara_

I was going to let Connie call it. I thought that she would want to, but I saw her struggling for words and fighting back tears and once glance was all I needed to let me know that she couldn't do it. Everyone agreed, and I pronounced her dead at 19:24. I nodded towards my staff, wordlessly ordering them to leave us, then switched off her oxygen and BP monitor. For moments, all the noise of the ED seemed to subside, and everything was silent. Though I could no longer see her face, I could hear the unevenness of Connie's breathing and knew that she was as upset as I. Tears were now leaking from the corners of my eyes and I quickly wiped them away. Connie now looked up, and although her eyes were moist there were no tears threatening to spill over. She looked distraught. I wanted to give her a hug, but I didn't think that would go down too well. Especially with the majority of the ED staff attempting to look like they weren't watching us. Instead, we stood for several minutes, staring at the body in front of us and wondering where it all went wrong. If I'm honest, I was in a complete state of disbelief. We had only seen her less than a week ago.

Eventually Connie walked out, with one last nod towards me. She could no longer hold in her emotions, and needed to deal with them privately. I understood that. Slowly, nurses began to filter back in to prep Lena for the morgue. I stayed throughout, as much as it pained me. I almost asked if I could do it myself, but I couldn't move, couldn't speak, and so simply watched.

It wasn't until I got back to the locker room that I truly let go. There had been a constant stream of tears running down my cheeks ever since I called it, but now they were accompanied by large, deep sobs that jerked my entire body. My legs felt weak beneath me and I sank to the floor, unable to muster the energy up to carry me to the sofa or even a chair. It was mid shift, so I knew that nobody would come in here and see me like this. I hadn't cried like this in a long time, since Mark. The grief I felt was immeasurable. It was like losing family. Just under two years had I known her, yet it felt like a lifetime. I wondered about the funeral. She didn't have any family, that we knew of, not that she was in touch with, anyway. Did that mean it was our responsibility? I figured the answer was probably yes, I didn't want some grotty council send off for her. She deserved more.

After what must have been a good thirty minutes worth of sobbing, I stood up and splashed my face with cold water in the sink in an attempt to reduce the redness of my eyes. It didn't work. I dabbed some concealer under my eyes and reapplied my mascara, which had ended up all over my cheeks, before going to resume my shift. I only had a couple of hours left and didn't know what else to do with myself. I got a couple of sceptical looks from various members of staff - they must have heard me crying, then - but they let it go, realising that they would have been fighting a losing battle telling me to go home. I needed to stay.

When the shift was over, I first went back to my office for a while. I still wasn't quite ready to leave. I felt like I had something to do, but wasn't quite sure what it was, or how to go about it. Eventually, after what felt like hours of deliberation, I went up to the canteen and ordered two teas - one with milk and no sugar, one the opposite way around - and two toasties. I avoided coffee and cakes. Too many memories.

"Come in," came the reply to my uneasy but somewhat urgent knock. The tea containers were hot and beginning to burn my hands, and the bag containing the toasties was digging painfully into my wrist. Using my elbow, I pushed down the door handle and let myself in. It surprised me that it wasn't locked, since she had been in here for most of the night and the blinds were closed. I avoided her eyes, at first, simply placing her tea and one of the toasties on her desk before sitting down on the sofa in the corner with my own. We sat in companionable silence for a while, each slowly picking away at our food and sipping our tea. When she finally spoke, it was so soft that I almost wondered if it was my imagination.

"How did this happen?"

I grimaced, my stomach twisting and my heart aching. "Dixie said they found her in the bathroom, next to the toilet," I replied gently, fighting to keep my breathing even.

Connie took a deep breath. "Was she…" She trailed off, and our eyes met for the first time since I'd entered. She had been crying too, I could tell. It was probably the reason the blinds were down. She never liked to display her weaknesses, or rather what she considered to be weaknesses, and this was no different. But I like to think that she trusted me, in that moment, with all of it. She let me see what no one else had, because in her eyes I didn't just see her grief for Lena, but her guilt over her daughter and all the insecurities she pretended not to have. I nearly teared up again at seeing her so vulnerable. It was an unusual feeling. I didn't though.

I took a deep breath. "She had been vomiting, yes," I said, trying my best to keep my voice even. It didn't work. "No pill debris or wounds, or anything, though. She must just…" I couldn't finish my sentence.

"So it might not even have been self inflicted, then," Connie said, putting her head in her hands. "She could have had a bug, or not cooked something right."

"She was cooking at the time, apparently," I said. "It was when the smoke alarm went off that the landlady went to check on her. She'd left the hob on. When the landlady found her she was already in cardiac arrest."

I heard Connie let out a deep, shaky breath and I knew she was crying. My own eyes were stinging painfully, begging me to let some tears fall. Eventually I caved, letting out as quiet a sob as I could manage. I wanted to go and put my arm around her. I wanted her to come and put her arm around me. But we both stayed where we were, quietly weeping, trying to comprehend the day's events.

"You know what," Connie said eventually, her voice thick. "I think we need something a bit stronger than this." She nodded towards her half-finished tea. Quickly stopping to wipe her eyes, she reached into the bottom drawer of her desk for a bottle of scotch and, surprisingly, two glasses. I immediately wondered who she kept them for.

She poured us each generous measures. "Do you take water?" She asked. I shook my head.

She picked up one of the glasses and stood, as if to pass it to me, but seemed to reconsider, turning around and picking up the bottle in one hand, and the two glasses in the other. She placed one glass on the table in front of me nonchalantly, setting the bottle down next to it before sitting down next to me.

"To Lena," she said, raising her glass towards me. This felt so strange, this odd companionship with the woman I loathed, and who loathed me. But at the same time it felt right. It felt comforting.

"To Lena."


	3. Chapter 3

**Another update already! I really am doing well with this, thanks to all your kind support! I really love to hear your thoughts and feedback, I really appreciate it. Hope you like this next chapter and the next one will probably be up tomorrow. Enjoy x**

 _Song for this chapter: Something Changed by Pulp_

We stayed in her office for most of the night, talking and drinking. More than once we both cried, again. I told her I was sorry, and she said that she was too. Neither of us elaborated; there were too many things for us to be sorry for. She told me about Grace, about how much she missed her and wished she hadn't let her go, but also how she thought Grace deserved more care and attention than she could give her. I told her about Mark and how I had tried so desperately to believe his lies and deceit under the illusion that I loved him, when in reality the overwhelming fear of being alone was what blinded me. She said she understood that and in her eyes I saw that she meant it.

We talked about her funeral, too. Connie suggested the local crematorium, and I agreed. She also said that she would place an announcement in the local paper so that people knew where to go. We wouldn't have been able to contact anyone personally as we didn't know any of her friends, if she had any, and she had no family, no next of kin.

This fact silenced us once more, until Connie reached over to refill our glasses. I was starting to feel tipsy by this point and wasn't sure how much more I should have, but decided it didn't matter. I was on a late shift the next day and so would have time to sleep it off, no matter how long we stayed. I was in the mood to get hammered. However, I still had to walk home at the end of all this, or at least find my way in and out of a taxi, so it probably wasn't the best idea.

The conversation then turned to more lighter topics. She told me about her time on Darwin. I told her that her reputation preceded her, where that was concerned. She laughed at that. It was the first genuine, good-spirited laugh I ever saw from her. It humanised her. Her entire face lit up and her eyes sparkled. She looked beautiful. I resisted the urge to tell her that. At some point in the night we had both kicked of our shoes and now sat with our feet tucked beneath us. Our knees touched slightly, and it was an odd sensation. It wasn't unpleasant though, so I didn't back away.

The next morning I woke to a light tap on my shoulder.

"Rita. Wake up," came a soft but urgent whisper in my ear.

My first thought was 'Oh shit what did I do?'. We were both still on the sofa, however at some point I had come to be lying on top of her. I wasn't facing her though, which was a good sign. I sat up quickly, shifting across so that I wasn't sitting on her. The sudden lifting of my head made it feel like it was going to explode and I groaned.

"I am so sorry," I said. "For anything I said, or did, or whatever." I frowned as my head pounded.

"It's fine," she said, sitting up and sounding as though she was in equal pain.

I hesitated. "So…" I took a deep breath. "Did we…" I cringed inwardly at what I was suggesting.

"No," Connie replied. I could see she was smiling slightly, which lessened my embarrassment as I knew she hadn't taken it the wrong way. "No, I think we both just fell asleep. And then at some point in the night you decided to use me as a mattress."

I smiled weakly. "Sorry," I repeated.

"It's fine," she said again. She looked up at me and smiled, almost fondly. I smiled back curiously. "Your hair, nurse Freeman."

I lifted my hand up to feel a large portion of my hair sticking out at almost a ninety degree angle. I groaned and rolled my eyes. "So much for pretending I hadn't spent the whole night in your office."

I could sense Connie trying not to laugh next to me and shot her a warning look, but I couldn't hold it and it ended up as a smirk. "It's not funny!"

"Absolutely not," she said, attempting a straight face but she looked more mischievous than anything. She looked at her watch. "It's a quarter past seven. Give it until half past and then everyone will be in handover. You can get out then. What shift are you on today?"

"Late," I replied, watching as she stood and sauntered over to her desk with her usual swagger, as if she hadn't just spent the night on her office sofa. I wondered how she managed to look so composed all the time. Not a hair was out of place and her clothes weren't at all creased. Maybe she made a regular habit of this.

"Right," she said contemplatively, reaching for a bottle of water on her desk and taking a large swig. "Would you like to have dinner after your shift? We can talk about funeral arrangements properly then."

I was slightly taken aback by this, and I imagine I looked something like a goldfish as I gaped at her. In all honesty, I had expected the cold shoulder this morning. I expected that she had only dropped her grudge because of grief and alcohol. Now she wanted to have dinner? I fought the urge to huff and roll my eyes at her inconsistency, to tell her to make her bloody mind up. It probably wouldn't have been the best of moves.

"Okay," I said eventually. She turned to look at me and I held eye contact determinedly in an attempt to read her, to figure out what she was thinking, but it was useless. It just created an awkward moment when we both realised just how long we had been staring at each other across that room. I would be lying if I said that my eyes had stayed firmly fixed on hers for the entire time, and I saw hers flicker downwards too. I felt undressed by her gaze, exposed. It felt so intimate, our little starting contest, that I shivered slightly and when she finally looked away I realised I had been holding my breath.

Connie cleared her throat. "Is nine thirty okay?" She asked, turning to her desk and shuffling some papers about. I could tell she was now deliberately avoiding my gaze.

"Yes that's fine," I said, running my hands through my hair and checking my watch. "Where do you want to meet?"

"I'll pick you up near the bus stop round the corner. I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea if they saw us leaving together."

"No. No of course not," I said quickly. God that would be embarrassing. "I'll see you later then."

She nodded. "Yeah. See you," she murmured as she took the seat behind her desk, rubbing sleep from the corners of her eyes.

I nodded back and quickly exited, hoping desperately that I wouldn't bump into anyone on my way out.

The next time I saw her that day was late afternoon when she waltzed into resus to assist with an RTC.

"Right, what have we got?"

"This is Gemma, thirty-four, driver of one of the cars in the RTC. Her GCS is 8, BP's dropping."

She still treated me with her usual frosty manner. However, today it didn't quite seem to meet her eyes and I got the impression she was simply keeping up appearances. Whenever our eyes met both of us quickly looked away as if our newfound friendship was a some sordid affair. I understood to an extent. Connie didn't want her staff knowing about her personal life and nor did I. Though, simple friendship wasn't the kind of thing that needed to be kept private, particularly between colleagues. But we didn't have a simple friendship. We never would.

I got butterflies whenever I caught her eye. If I was to try and rationalise I would say that it was the shock of Lena's death. But it wasn't the first time I had experienced this. Often, when I was in her office, seething, both of us lashing out with scathing accusations and bitter tongues, I would have a similar feeling, though mixed with rage and so almost unrecognisable. The anger I felt would often give rise to a feeling of intense passion and more than once I had had to resist grabbing her by the collar of her shirt and capturing her in a biting kiss, throwing her against the wall and having my way with her then and there. I sometimes wondered if my facial expressions gave this desire away as my eyelids grew heavy and my mouth watered, but if it did she never reacted to it. Now the intimacy, the excitement of our secret truce, had allowed me to feel what was pure, unadulterated infatuation. The world went out of focus for a moment and time stopped as I realised for the very first time that I was attracted to my boss. Well, I had, admittedly, always found her easy on the eye but it was in this moment that I was conscious that what I wanted from her wasn't just a glimpse or a quick shag but to have more than that with her. After last night I had spent the morning thinking about what a good team we would have made had we not both been too stubborn to work through our differences and I realised that, when work was put aside, I actually quite liked her. In terms of friendship of course. Though now I was having second thoughts.

"Nurse Freeman!" Connie's voice broke through my haze and I realised she had been talking to me the whole time. "Chest drain!"

I quickly dashed off to get the equipment and avoided meeting her eyes again for the rest of the shift.

 **Please review and let me know your thoughts so far :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Finally this bloody website** **is back online! I would have updated this yesterday, but the account page was down all day. First of all I want to thank you all for the lovely review you've been leaving, they make my day! Please do keep them coming! Depending on how I get on with the chapter I am writing now, I might update later tonight, otherwise it will be tomorrow morning. Also, I wanted to let you know that in a couple of chapters I am planning to do a scene that is M rated, however I plan to keep the overall rating of this fic as T and I will either put a warning where the M stuff starts or write a T version here and post an M rated version separately. Please let me know your thoughts and preferences and enjoy** **this next chapter! It's a bit shorter, but hopefully the next one will make up for that!**

 _Song for this chapter: Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen_

When I arrived at the bus stop I found Connie already there, waiting for me. I knocked on her car window to get her to unlock the doors then climbed nervously in. My realisation had made me feel awkward and shy, though I thought I did a good job of hiding it.

"Where we off to then?" I asked chirpily.

"There's a nice tapas in the city centre. I thought we'd go there if that's okay?" She asked, never taking her eyes off the road. I glanced to the side and marvelled at her silhouette in the dim light of the street lamps and the glare of the dashboard lights. Her face was creased with concentration and she looked beautiful. I quickly looked away.

"Yeah, that sounds good," I replied quickly, deciding it best to look out of the window from now on.

We parked down a little side street near the restaurant and I waited whilst Connie went to pay the meter before walking up together. She had already booked a table, so we were seated straight away in a little corner at the back of the restaurant. The waiter handed us a menu and I almost choked at the prices, though I expected nothing less from Connie Beauchamp, on her salary.

"Would you like wine?" She asked, not looking up from her menu.

I considered for a moment whether I should, as that would likely be extortionate as well, but then a desire to impress her took over and I decided splashing out for one night wouldn't break the bank too much.

"Yes, white please."

"Sauvignon Blanc okay?"

"Yeah."

We ordered our meals and the waiter brought the wine. It was a strange silence, awkward but companionable at the same time. I felt like I should say something, but I hadn't the faintest idea what. The last thing I wanted to do was make a prat of myself. This was new, this amity, and I desperately wanted to preserve it.

"I suppose we should talk about the funeral," Connie said eventually, on a sigh. "It is why we're here."

That stung a bit. Although she had said before that she had wanted to meet to discuss funeral arrangements, I still hoped that a little part of her wanted to spend time with me. However, as things were going, so far it seemed entirely practical.

I nodded in response. "You said about the crematorium," I began. "That sounds good." I took a careful sip of my wine. I was beginning to feel emotional but didn't want to break down in a restaurant full of people. At least not whilst sober.

"Alright. We'll go for that then," Connie said, typing into her phone what I assumed were notes on our conversation. "I'll ring them in the morning. What about the flowers? Do you want to do those? They've never quite been my forte." She smiled slightly.

"Yeah, sure. Are we just going to go with lilies? That's traditional for funerals."

"It's up to you. Perhaps we could have a mixture."

"Fine," I replied, now taking out my own phone and setting a reminder to ring the florist. "I think they play music, too. What should we choose for that?"

Connie sat back looking puzzled. "I have absolutely no idea," she said finally. "I don't really know what music she listened to. Or if she even liked music." I nodded my agreement.

"I think they sing 'Abide With Me' at most funerals," I offered. "I'll look on google." I quickly typed in 'funeral songs' and was met by a long list of popular funeral songs. I started reading them out. "'The Lord is My Shepard'. 'All Things Bright and Beautiful' - that one's alright. 'Match of the Day Theme Tune'?!" I spluttered incredulously as Connie looked up at me in surprise and as soon as our eyes met we laughed. I thought there would never be a time when that laugh wouldn't take my breath away and my chest ached. It took me by surprise slightly, these feelings and how rapidly they were growing into a full blown, teenager-style crush. I really was in deep.

"Well I suppose it really does take all sorts," Connie said eventually, clearing her throat and taking a sip of wine, still smiling to herself. "Somehow I don't think we'll have that one. 'Abide With Me' is good."

After that the mood was considerably lighter, to my relief. We resumed chatting as we had the night before, carefree and natural. So natural it was unnerving. My disbelief at our sudden alliance never lessened and was only joined but more shock at what we had been missing whilst blinded by contempt. Even when we had met with Lena together, my hatred for her overrode any other character judgement. Looking back, we could possibly have worked towards building bridges much sooner had I not been so single minded.

I often found myself gazing at her whilst she spoke. When she got passionate about something, I noticed, the tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes would deepen with her smile and her eyes lit up and illuminated her entire face. It made me smile too, just watching her like this. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself desperate to learn more about everything she spoke of. I wanted to learn everything about her. I wanted to know her inside out. I wanted to know her better than I knew myself.

The food arrived and so did our third bottle of wine. Tomorrow was a Saturday, and so both of us had the day off, though Connie would probably still be doing some work. I planned to go to the florist tomorrow to organise Lena's flowers, and Connie would be going to the funeral directors to sort things there. We were both more than a bit tipsy now, and I noticed myself leaning ever closer to her.

About half way through our meal, Connie was emailed the coroner's report.

"Cardiac arrest," she said simply, putting her fork down and sighing heavily. "Sudden bulimic death, most likely triggered by electrolyte imbalance and self-induced vomiting." She closed her eyes and laid her head on her hands.

I let out a deep breath through teeth clenched against tears. I was determined not to cry, not here.

"Was it definitely self-induced?" I half-whispered, unable to move for all the overwhelming grief that surrounded me. My chest felt heavy.

Connie nodded, still not looking up. "There were nail marks on the back of her throat," she breathed. She lifted her head lethargically and her watery eyes met mine. "Why didn't she come to us?" There was desperation in her tone.

"Connie you can't think like that," I said determinedly. "The urge probably came on so suddenly that she wouldn't have had the time to. You know how it is. She wouldn't have been able to think of anything else." I grasped her hands in mine in an effort to comfort her.

"But she's been doing so well," Connie whispered, tears now threatening to spill over.

"You know how suddenly relapse can happen. If she had been struggling at the weekend she would have told us. You know she would," I emphasised. I lifted one of my hands from hers to reach for my napkin and carefully dabbed it around the corners of her eyes so as not to smudge her makeup. She smiled at me gratefully before pulling away and leaning back in her seat.

"I just can't believe this has happened," she said, composing herself. "I honestly never thought it. Especially now."

I gave a weak smile in agreement. "Me neither," I murmured slowly. "I can't believe it too."

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	5. Chapter 5

**Woo another update! I think the next couple might take a bit longer as I have two novels to read by next Wednesday, which will take up a lot of my time in the next couple of days! Thanks again for all the wonderful feedback, it makes me so happy! I spent quite a while on this chapter, so I really hope you enjoy it!**

 _Song for this chapter: Ever Fallen In Love by The Buzzcocks_

It was ten days before we could get the funeral. There was a long waiting list for the crematorium and we had to wait a couple of days for the body to be released to us as we weren't blood relatives, or relatives of any sort really. We were, on paper, just two of the many people who had treated her whilst she was in hospital. I cried upon that realisation.

I had hoped desperately that someone, anyone, other than us would turn up to the funeral. Someone that had seen the ad in the paper, perhaps, or a friend she had met in hospital. But nobody came. It was just Connie and I stood in the crematorium as the forest green curtains slowly drew to a close around her casket and she was gone forever. Both of us cried, but the only comfort we offered one another was a gentle brush of our shoulders and the passing of tissues. I wanted to hold her, I wanted her to hold me, but I was again to overcome with grief to move and it was all I could do not to collapse in on myself. I felt hollow, brittle, and my tense muscles created a tremor that made me feel that at any time I would crack and break down into a heap on the floor.

After the funeral we went to the pub. We didn't stay long but we both felt we needed it. By this time whenever I was around her I had the constant feeling that I was about to say something, but I had no idea what it was. It was a tugging kind of feeling, like when you have something important to tell someone but you're not sure how to phrase it, or when would be an appropriate time in the conversation to spit it out. I ached to put my arms around her. It was an entirely new sensation for me, being this infatuated with someone. With Mark, we had been fairly unremarkable falling in love. We went on several dates, and then eventually I found that I had fallen in love with him. It was the kind of transition that went unnoticed until it happened, like after going on holiday and finding that you've grown out of your jeans seemingly overnight. This, however, was the polar opposite. My desire for her had hit me like a train and there was nothing I could do about it. We weren't dating. It wasn't a feeling I should have been having. But it was unmistakably there and the lack of reciprocation only made it burn brighter.

Over the next few weeks we spent more time together. I had half expected things to return to the way they were once the funeral was out of the way and we had no reason to be in each other's company. But then one night she had asked if I would like a drink after my shift and it continued from there. Sometimes we would go to restaurants and eat together, sometimes we simply had a couple of drinks in a bar, a couple of times I had turned up in her office at the end of a shift with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a takeaway in the other and we would stay up chatting just as we had that very first night.

On initial thoughts I would say that it was over these weeks that I had fallen in love with her, but this wasn't true. I was already in love, and time had served only to deepen this until I found myself feeling disorientated and fragmented on the evenings we didn't spend together. I couldn't her though. The fear of losing her companionship was all too overwhelming. In my eyes, then, she was everything. I felt like a teenager again, resting my entire world on this one person who had stolen my heart without even realising. I would lie awake at night, thinking about the time we'd spent together and grinning, remembering all the things she had said and the smiles and frowns that matched this. I was utterly hopeless.

Roughly five weeks after Lena's funeral, a young woman came into the ED after vomiting blood. She was roughly Lena's age and I battled with my urge to compare them. She too, I discovered after seeing the self inflicted wounds on her arms when taking her blood pressure, was bulimic and the blood in her vomit was simply due to her nails scratching the back of her throat. Her wounds didn't need stitching, so I steri-stripped them and discharged her as she assured me that she had already been referred to mental health services and she didn't seem to be at any reasonable risk to herself.

I was wrong, and just hours later she came in after jumping out in front of a lorry.

I remember the drop in my stomach as Dixie recited her name and her obs, I remember Connie flicking through her notes and seeing that she had been treated here earlier that day and I remember the fury in her eyes as she read that I had discharged her.

"You discharged her without a psych assessment?" She spat incredulously. "You truly are one of the most incompetent people I have ever had the misfortune to work with, nurse Freeman."

The sudden flip in her attitude towards me made my eyes sting. Her words hurt and I felt upset, ashamed, but at the same time I was furious. I strongly believed that I had done what anyone else would have were they presented with the same situation and Connie's refusal to see this filled me with rage.

After she was stabilised, Connie stormed out without a word. I could see the arrogance in her posture and I wanted to scream and throw things. I followed her angrily, bursting through her office door and slamming it behind me.

"Just what is your problem," I seethed. "How dare you talk to me like that in front of my staff."

"'Your staff'," she ridiculed. "You really do have such an inflated sense of your own importance don't you."

I laughed. "So says you, 'Mrs Beauchamp'," I hissed in a mocking tone. "'Not doctor, I'm a surgeon'. Get over yourself."

"You know you can ridicule me and my profession as much as you like but that does not take away the fact that you risked a patient's life today with your laziness and your inadequacy. That girl could never walk again and that's down to you."

"I made the same call that anyone would have done given the situation. She showed no signs of suicidal ideation whilst she was here." I was almost shouting now.

"She came in for treatment of two separate injuries directly relating to her mental health problems," she yelled back. "It's hardly a difficult leap to make."

"Oh, right, so we're going to just start sectioning ever patient that walks through those doors with a mental health problem now, are we? Brilliant idea. Well done. Deserves an MBE, that one."

"The point here is that you are incompetent enough not to notice whether or not someone is a risk. Even Lily has the humanity and the people skills to notice a thing like that."

"Oh yes," I laughed exaggeratedly. "And you're little miss observant, aren't you?"

"I'm a damn sight more observant and competent in my job than you could even dream of."

"Oh really?"

"Really."

I was blinded by incredulity and white hot rage so much that I thought I was going to hit her until I felt our lips crash together. I had grabbed her by the neck almost violently, pulling her down until I captured her lips in mine so forcefully that it would have been painful in any other situation. Now, however, the fury took over and I was hungry. I sucked on her bottom lip using much more teeth than was necessary before diving back in for a deeper, wetter kiss. She released a fervent moan at this that went straight to my core and I pressed the full length of my body against hers. She tasted of sweet coffee and biscuits and the scent of her perfume was so strong I felt dizzy. Every nerve in my body felt alive and nothing else mattered than her lips on mine. I immersed myself in her, wanting to remember every taste, every sensation, every hot breath mingling with mine.

Then suddenly we broke apart and she turned rapidly away from me, her hands cupped over her mouth.

"Get out."

It was growled so low that I barely heard her over the sound of my own frenzied breathing.

"Get out!" She screamed, and I jumped, hesitating, feeling as though I should say something, before thinking better of it and rushing out, slamming the door behind me with all my might.

 **Please remember to review and let me know your thought! It always helps to keep me motivated x**


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter is fairly short, but I've definitely made up for it in the next chapter (it's huge!) which should be up by tomorrow afternoon. Again, thank you so, so, so much for all the wonderful feedback. It makes me so happy to know your thoughts and please do continue! Anyway, hope you enjoy this next chapter and expect a mammoth tomorrow! ;)**

 _Song for this chapter: Amnesia by Andrew Paul Woodworth featuring Virgil._

I practically ran the way to my office, keeping my head down in case anyone saw her lipstick on my face or the tears in my eyes. My chest felt tight with the shock of what had just happened, of what I had just done. I lost control for a second, and that was all it took for my true feelings to spurt out.

My stomach felt colder and emptier the more I thought about what had just happened, what I had just done. I sat down heavily in my chair, groaning in disbelief and shame. I ached with the torment of my actions and thoughts of their possible repercussions. She said, all those weeks ago, that she wanted me out. Now she had an even bigger motivation. I leant my head in my hands, letting out a deep, regretful sigh.

It had felt so good. Every moment of it. Just remembering the taste of her lips made my mouth water. She tasted of cafés - I could tell she had been eating shortbread earlier - and of something else indescribable, the flavour that was simply her and nothing else. When I ran my tongue over my lips I could still taste it and I was yearning for more, but I had blown it.

Whilst it was happening, I could have sworn that she was kissing me back. Her long fingers had dug almost painfully into my sides as she pulled me close up to her so that our hips matched, and I'm sure at one point she had squeezed my arse. And then there was that moan. That long, deep sound of pure pleasure that had escaped her lips and sent my body into overdrive, making every limb ache with desire. I was becoming flustered again just remembering it, how I had felt it on my tongue as it pushed against hers and the hot breath that came with it. But she had pushed me away and now I wasn't sure whether her apparent reciprocation was simply wishful thinking.

I grabbed the compact mirror out of my top drawer and attempted to correct my appearance. My mascara had smudged slightly and there was lipstick all around my mouth. Whether it was hers or mine, I didn't know. My eyes were bloodshot and my hair out of place. I quickly rubbed away the black from under my eyes and the pink from around my lips and dabbed around with my face powder before patting my hair into place. There was nothing much I could do about the redness of my eyes, so I decided to stay in my office for a while and catch up on some paperwork whilst it subsided.

I didn't see her for the rest of the shift, so I assumed she must have been hiding away in her office as I had felt like doing, but was dragged out by Charlie as we were short staffed enough is it was. There seemed to be a cloud hanging over me and I felt like falling to the floor and never getting up. Every now and then I would get sidetracked, forget, and then I would remember and my stomach would turn to ice and my chest would ache. I tried to think of a way to sort things between us, to resolve it, but I couldn't think of what I would say to her. I wanted to tell her that I loved her. I wanted to tell her that I didn't love her. I wanted to say I planned it. I wanted to say that it was an accident fuelled by the heat of the moment. Both were true.

I wanted to break down and tell her everything. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how much I loved the way her eyes squinted when she smiled and the way her voice became almost melodic when she spoke about something she enjoyed. I wanted to tell her how many nights I had spent awake just with the excitement of seeing her face the next morning, and how my days off were now more exhausting than being at work because I wasn't with her. I wanted to tell her she was my everything.

I wished we could start again. Not just the day, but our entire course. The feud, the arguments, the spite. I wished it were all gone. Then I would have spoken to her on that first day and asked her if she wanted to go for a drink. She may have said yes, she may have declined. Maybe we would go out a couple of times then it would dwindle out, like a candle reaching the end of its wick. Maybe we would have become great friends and purely that. Maybe we would have been made for each other. Either way, it would have been less agony than what I was feeling now. At least I would have felt that it came to a natural end and had run its course. Now, however, it had felt like a favourite song skipped mid-play and that was more painful than anything.

By the end of my shift I decided that I would go and apologise to her. I would have done anything to regain her trust and her friendship, even if that meant burying my true feelings. I needed her too much to let her go. After all these weeks I didn't know what I would do without her company and my love for her ran deeper than pure romance. She felt like part of me, and I couldn't bear to be without her. I got changed out of my scrubs in my office as slowly as possible, dreading her reaction when I would finally see her, and stopped off at the coffee shop to get her a hazelnut latte as a peace offering.

Yet when I arrived at her office she had already gone. When I asked Charlie he said that she had a family emergency and wouldn't be back for a couple of days. But I knew this wasn't true.

I resisted tears and held my head high as I walked home, stopping just outside to pour her coffee away.

 **Please review! x**


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay this is it! This is the M rated chapter! To signal the point at which it becomes M rated, I will put three bolded asterisks (***) in between paragraphs, so its up to you whether or not you want to read it as there is nothing at all plot-wise that you will miss. It is my first attempt at every writing anything like this so please let me know how I did. I fear I may have gone a lil bit overboard (this chapter is huge!) but I was trying my best to get it right. Shout out to Katie (Oblivionokay) for proof reading this for me and reassuring me that I was on the right track, you are a life saver! Final thing to say is I'm sorry if this doesn't get updated tomorrow since it took me so long to write this that I am now a little bit behind on other chapters, and still got a lot of school work to finish too.**

 **Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter and please please please let me know how I did, and also how this chapter was in general because I did find it quite difficult to write.**

 **(Also, to the anon that just left me a review, yes it was me that wrote Blue Room and it will get finished at some point. I'm working on it! XD)**

 _Song for this chapter: Just Say Yes by Snow Patrol_

The walk home was a long one, and about half way through it started to rain. This only served to further dampen my mood and I let myself cry, reassured that the icy droplets would disguise my tears if I bumped into anyone. My teeth chattered and my limbs shook with the cold but I felt numb and utterly resigned to everything that the world had to throw at me. I'm pretty sure that, in that moment, I could have tripped up and all I would do would be to lie on the ground, not caring enough about anything to lift myself up again.

When I got home I felt restless, and after much pacing and sitting down and getting back up again I decided to have a shower. As I undressed I thought about how I would be washing away all traces of her from my body and I couldn't decide whether this was a good thing or not. Still I could taste her on my lips and I never wanted that to end, but I continued into the shower anyway. The hot water felt scalding as it met my shivering limbs and for minutes I simply stood there under the faucet, wondering what she was feeling now. Was she thinking about me too? Did she regret her reaction? Did she regret ever forgiving me in the first place? I pictured her sitting at her kitchen table with a large glass of wine, reaching up to her lips, touching where I had been just hours before and being overcome with revulsion at the thought. I had betrayed her trust, that's how she would see it. She would be thinking bitterly about how all this time I had been lusting after her while she let me in, unsuspecting. She would be raging, seeking revenge at my sudden invasion of her privacy and personal space.

After I had showered I didn't bother dressing. I just slipped into my dressing gown and went downstairs with a blanket and pillow, unsure whether I would be able to muster the energy to climb back up. I opened a bottle of wine and buried myself in my blanket and cushions on the sofa, flicking mindlessly through the channels until I could find something semi-bearable to watch. I settled for an omnibus of Coronation Street as, having been on late shifts for most of the past week, I hadn't seen any of the episodes showing and it was fairly easy viewing.

I thought I should maybe eat something. I was onto my second bottle of wine and I hadn't had anything since lunchtime. But I wasn't hungry. In fact, the very thought of food repulsed me. The guilt and regret were twisting around in my stomach too much. I wished so badly that I could take back what I had done. It made me want to scream. How could I have been so stupid, so unthinking? I felt like tearing my hair out with frustration. I hated myself for what I had done. I would have given anything to turn back the clock.

How did this happen? Over just a couple of months Connie Beauchamp had gone from being my arch-enemy to my closest friend, and I was in love with her. I so desperately craved her. I imagined her sitting here with me, right now, under my sea of blankets and pillows, our limbs intertwined as we watched TV together, neither of us really concentrating on it. I would hold her in my arms and breathe in deep lungfuls of her scent, tangling my fingers in her long, silky hair and whispering softly into her ear, telling her how much I loved her. And she would love me back.

I must have fallen asleep at this, because the next thing I knew it was twelve-thirty. I groaned as I realised my wine glass had slipped from my hand whilst I was asleep and spilt all over my carpet. Sighing, I stumbled into the kitchen for a cloth and some carpet cleaner but was suddenly interrupted by an urgent knock at the door.

My heart missed a beat and my pulse began to race as I wondered who would be at the door at this time of night. I contemplated not answering it. A couple of weeks ago I had somehow managed to snap the safety chain and so now just my own admittedly inadequate strength was all I had to defend me should anyone try to force entry. I was just about to go back into the kitchen when they knocked again, and, realising they weren't going to go away, I reluctantly went to answer it.

"Connie?"

She was turned away from me when I opened the door, but upon hearing my voice turned quickly around. Although she was wearing her bike leathers she looked cold and had her arms wrapped around herself tightly. Before I had a chance to say anything else she had pushed past me.

"Come in then," I muttered sarcastically. She was avoiding my gaze and I immediately tensed, ready for her to go off on one at me. Ready for her rejection.

She stood awkwardly in the hall, shivering slightly, looking troubled. When she didn't say anything I asked her if she'd like anything to drink. She said no, she's not staying. I nodded solemnly and waited uneasily for her to speak.

"Look. Rita," she began, her eyes darting up to mine then quickly away again. "I am sorry for the way I reacted this afternoon. It was over the top and unnecessary, and I apologise." I held my breath. "But it can't happen again."

I nodded slowly. "Okay," I said softly. Her initial apology had gotten my hopes up slightly, and now they were crushed it was even more painful and I didn't trust myself to say anything else.

"Obviously I'm flattered," she was rambling a bit now, clearly uncomfortable. "But I really am not interested. I'm sorry. You've been a good friend to me these past few weeks and I hope that continues but I'm not interested in women." She glanced quickly up at me again, quickly scanning my reaction, but I kept my face expressionless and unreadable. I didn't want her to know how much this meant to me.

"Okay," I repeated. "It's okay. I understand." I didn't know what else to say, so we were silent for a few seconds more.

"Right then," she said quickly. "I should get going." She turned towards the door and I opened it for her. Still our eyes didn't meet, but I wasn't sure who was avoiding who anymore. "I'll see you at work."

"See you," I replied, trying to sound as cheerful as possible but it came out flat. She nodded at me then hurried off down the path to her car. I closed the door silently, feeling deflated and upset. I tried not to think about what she had said, judging that it would be better to think about in the morning with a clear head rather getting upset all over again now. Wistfully, I returned to the kitchen to fetch the carpet cleaner and went about cleaning up the wine from my carpet. It was only white, so it was easy enough to remove the stain and I was done in five minutes. I glanced at the bottle currently sitting on my coffee table and decided that there wasn't enough in it to keep me going for the rest of my waking hours and so brought another bottle back with me when I returned the carpet cleaner to the kitchen.

Just ten minutes later there was another knock at the door. This one was more frantic than the last, and made me jump slightly. Again cautiously I went to open it.

I didn't even have chance to get a look at the intruder before I was pushed against the wall so violently that I was certain it would leave a bruise. I opened my mouth to scream but it was stifled instantly by hot lips crashing down onto mine. That vaguely familiar scent and the taste that sent my head spinning was all I needed to realise what was happening and within seconds I was biting back, reaching up to her neck to pull her mouth ever more forcefully onto mine. Her hair was tied up neatly at the back of her head and I made fast work of untying it, yearning to knot my fingers in it. All inhibitions were now gone and all I wanted was her, to lose myself in her. I wanted to explore every inch, every scar, commit it to my memory never to be forgotten.

But now wasn't the time for that. Now was frantic and desperate. I ran my tongue hungrily across her bottom lip before pushing it deep inside her mouth, and it had the desired effect of repeating the low moan that had escaped her lips earlier that day. This was different though, louder and full of longing and it made my knees weak. My already flushed cheeks were burning and I was gasping for air, never wanting to break my lips away from hers in the fear that she would drift away. I loosened my fingers from her hair and ran them down her body, my fingertips reminding me that she was still wearing her bike leathers and I groaned sensually into her mouth, biting down on her lip as she let out a deep sigh of gratification.

I decided that I wanted to see her now. Holding her by the waist I quickly span her around so that she was now leant against the wall then drew back slightly, taking in her appearance. She looked gorgeous. Her cheeks were pink and her lips swollen red. Her hair was loose and messy where I had tangled my fingers in it and her chest was heaving with hot and heavy breaths, her eyes watching me lustfully and begging me to continue. I glanced up and down her body then back up to her, silently asking for permission to take things further and she answered by pulling me back towards her, slipping a delicate hand into my dressing gown and making me shiver as her cool fingers brushed across my bare skin.

 **(***)**

Our kisses became more languid then, more sensual, as I slowly began to unzip her jacket with trembling fingers and pull it down over her shoulders until it dropped to the floor with a soft thud. She was wearing one of her pale silk blouses beneath it and when I glanced downwards I could see the curve of her breasts, making my mouth water. I started to place wet, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her neck whilst fumbling with the buttons of her blouse and savouring the scent of her expensive perfume. As I ran the tip of my tongue lightly across her collarbone she whimpered and ground down on the leg that I had slipped between hers, sending heat flooding through me with such intensity that I knew I needed to get her upstairs fast.

Placing one last lingering kiss at the nape of her neck, I silently grasped her hand and pulled her behind me to the stairs. She didn't need much persuading and as we ascended it was all we could do to keep out hands off one another. By the time we had made it to my bedroom she was kissing me again, her hands pulling on my hair to get me to tilt my head upwards, giving her better access to my lips. I pulled on the remaining buttons of her blouse, eventually managing to free her from it and finally being able to touch the soft skin beneath it. She shivered slightly at the exposure and I pulled her closer to me, wrapping my arms tightly around her now semi-naked form and allowing my dressing gown to slip open slightly so that I could feel my bare skin against hers.

Every nerve in my body felt alive. I could feel every brush of my dressing gown against my skin and every touch felt overpowering making my desperation to feel her skin on mine intensify. I reached down to unfasten her trousers and push them down her long legs, grazing my fingers teasingly against her skin as I did so. Her hands immediately reached forwards to untie my dressing gown and I gasped at the shock of the cold air on my skin. My nipples were painfully hard and aching to be touched and when I pressed myself back against her they rubbed on the rough fabric of her lacy bra, making me suck in a sharp breath at the sudden friction.

I realise now that I should have known it but I was surprised at how dominant she was. She kissed me forcefully and squeezed my arse tight, lifting me up and allowing me to grind down on her thigh, making my head spin with the sensation. I felt myself being pushed back carefully until the backs of my legs were against the bed and I fell down onto it with a soft thud. Before I knew it she was on top of me, her hair dangling down and tickling my shoulders as she began to kiss my neck, occasionally nipping the skin between her teeth causing me to cry out with the exciting combination of pain and pleasure. She ran her tongue torturously slow along my collarbone and down between the curves of my breasts, lingering there before moving across to take one of my nipples into her mouth. I arched my back, a low groan escaping from my lips as pleasure pulsated though me and my breathing quickened. She flicked her tongue delicately across it, her hands now sensuously trailing up my thighs, making me push my hips towards her in hope of receiving the friction I so desperately craved. I felt her smile against my breast and hum in amusement, clearly enjoying my torment.

Slowly, she began to raise her hand slowly up my legs until it reached the top on my thighs. My breath hitched in my throat as I felt her fingers moving closer and closer to my now near painful arousal and my hips bucked involuntarily. Finally she pushed a single, long finger into me and I cried out at the sensation, my vision blurring and my chest heaving and I heard her gasp as she felt the wetness there. She had lifted her head and was now lustfully watching every reaction as she pushed in a second finger, curling them in towards herself until I sucked in a sharp breath and was panting, knowing then that she had found just the right spot.

She pushed into me more quickly now, more forcefully as my breaths became more and more erratic and my whimpers louder. Her thumb brushed against my clit as she pumped and my vision faded, the sensation becoming too much. My body began to jerk with my release and with one last bite to my neck I was done, pleasure rippling through me like a drug and my muscles contracting then relaxing completely so that every limb was heavy and slack.

I laid there unmoving for several moments, getting my breath back and regaining control of my limbs. She had flopped down next to me and was also breathing heavily, her cheeks pink and a victorious grin on her face. I smiled back, turning onto my side and leaning across to place a soft kiss on her lips, filling my stomach again with butterflies. I reached around and pulled her closer towards me. I wanted to tell her that I loved her, but I sensed that it was way too early for anything like that, so I resolved to show her instead. I needed to make her feel as exhilarated as she had just made me.

I began by placing quick, gentle kisses from the corner of her mouth across to the sensitive skin behind her ear, then slowly down her neck, occasionally stopping to suck the skin into my mouth and softly graze it with my teeth. I focused on one point at the meeting of her neck and shoulders, showering it with wet kisses and tender bites whilst lazily tracing circles in the small of her back with my fingertips, making her arch towards me with a soft moan. I ran them lightly up her spine and felt her tremble under my touch. I fumbled with the clasp of her bra, unfastening it as quickly as I could using one hand, then rolled her onto her back so that I was straddling her hips.

She looked beautiful laid there beneath me, hair unkempt, eyelids heavy, lips swollen red. I reached down to slowly pull her bra straps down her shoulders, eventually sliding it off completely and licking my lips at the new sight before me. I wanted to devour her. I leant down to take one of her nipples in my mouth, playfully rolling the other between my thumb and forefinger as she writhed and exhaled shakily. The saltiness of her skin made me hum hungrily, sucking gently whilst flicking my tongue over the sensitive tip. She let out a low, guttural moan at this, arching so as to push herself more heavily against my mouth. I grinned, my own nipples hardening at the sounds she was making.

When I was satisfied I had made her wait long enough, I leaned over and placed a slow, tender kiss on the smooth skin in between her breasts. I could feel her heartbeat racing beneath my lips and my own heart skipped with my love for her and elation that I could finally express that. I had wanted her for so long and now that I finally had her it felt dreamlike, surreal. In all honesty, I felt like crying - happy tears, of course, but tears nonetheless. I bit them back, choosing instead to put all my emotion into the kisses I trailed down her torso, across the bones of her hips and over the top of her underwear. She was much more vocal than I, moaning louder with each brush of my lips. I could smell her arousal, feel the wetness against my mouth even through the lace of her knickers and I licked my lips again, head spinning with the anticipation of what I was about to do. I had only ever been with one woman before, and whilst we had been together a good eight or nine months I had never gone down on her. With Connie, however, I was practically gagging to taste her. She smelt so sweet yet salty at the same time and I swallowed hard, unable to postpone any longer.

I reached behind her, digging my nails into the flesh of her arse as I slowly tugged her underwear over her hips and down her long legs before tossing them aside and kissing my way back up to the insides of her thighs. I heard her breath hitch as she felt my warm breath against her, hesitating before finally dipping forward for that very first taste. It was a strange sensation, unlike anything I had ever experienced before, but at the same time it was heavenly and I quickly gained confidence as her breaths became more and more erratic and her fingers knotted into my hair, pushing me ever closer to her centre as I began to experiment with pushing my tongue delicately inside her. It was when I fastened my lips around her clit, sucking gently whilst swirling my tongue, that she finally came to a shuddering halt, clenching her fists almost painfully in my hair and crying out loudly.

When her fingers eventually relaxed in my hair, I crawled back up to place a tender, heartfelt kiss on her lips, hoping to sum up my devotion to her in that one simple touch.

 **Please let me know your thoughts! x**


	8. Chapter 8

**Freechamp** **pillow talk! Thank you so so so much for your kind feedback for the last chapter, I was really nervous about posting that one. This one is v fluffy (for me at least), and I probably won't** **post another until at least Wednesday because I have so much school work to do (that I should have done weeks ago). Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this one, and as always please do remember to review and let me know your thoughts! Thanks**

 _Song for this chapter: All I Want is You by U2 - (strongly suggest listening as I think it shows the tone of the chapter really well and is also brilliant!)_

I didn't know what time it was, or how long we had been laid there. Looking past her shoulder, I could see the moon shining bright through the window, illuminating the entire room and making it glow. In our desperation I hadn't even thought about closing the curtains and now I couldn't be bothered with getting up. I never wanted to stop gazing at her.

We were lying facing one another, the duvet thrown over our naked bodies, our heads both resting on the same pillow as I had left my other one downstairs on the sofa. I could feel her breath on my cheeks and despite the dim light I could see so clearly every feature, every freckle, every line. I wanted to commit them to my memory forever, to never forget how beautiful she looked, her muscles relaxed entirely and a thin sheen of perspiration across her forehead and cheeks, making her entire face glow. It felt surreal, her being so close to me like this, our knees touching under the duvet, and me to be allowed to stare at her, study her without the fear of her catching me out and having to explain myself.

She was looking intently back at me with softened eyes, the corners of her mouth turned upwards ever so slightly. I had to fight not to grin like an idiot. The elation was so vivid and so vast that I felt like I was going to burst. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so happy. Though still in the pit of my stomach there were niggling doubts, I chose not to listen to them for the time being. I was too busy being awestruck at the older woman laid before me.

"I'm sorry," she whispered eventually, and my heart stopped in my chest.

"What for?" I whispered back, every muscle in my body tensing with fear at what was going to come next.

I heard her swallow. "For being afraid," she murmured, closing her eyes slowly. She looked so young, so vulnerable, that it made me want to curl myself around her, guard her with my life.

"Of what?" I replied gently.

"Of feeling what I'm feeling now," she said so quietly that I could barely hear. "Of feeling so alive when my daughter is so far away. Of feeling more exposed than I have in years. Of feeling the way I feel about you." Her eyes were open now, and we never broke eye contact. She was letting me in, I realised, and I could see everything. I could see the frightened little girl that hid behind the cast-iron armour that was 'Mrs Beauchamp'. I could see the true extent of her devastation at losing her daughter. I could see the heart that had been broken so many times, but had survived through sheer force of will and defiance. I reached out and gently cupped her face in my hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and I felt her relax into my touch.

"My father," she began, closing her eyes once more. "I loved him so dearly. It almost killed me when he died." Her forehead creased. "I can't shake the feeling that he is looking down at me now, at this, with such disappointment and revulsion…" She trailed off, her eyes squeezing shut and her jaw clenching with torment.

I took in a deep, shaky breath, feeling so distraught at her anguish but at the same time determined to help her overcome it. I stroked her hair soothingly, wetting my lips with the tip of my tongue whilst trying to find a way to articulate what I wanted to say.

I took a breath. "You know what I believe?" I said softly, nudging her chin slightly, prompting her to open her eyes. She looked so troubled that I wanted to envelope her in my arms and never let her go, but I needed to say this to her. "I believe that, after you've died, when you go to wherever it is you end up, if anywhere, then you're overcome with this new sense of understanding, a sort of peaceful feeling. All past grievance and grudges stop mattering. Everything makes sense, somehow, and you see the world from everyone else's point of view. You understand why things happen, and how things are meant to be." I paused, searching her eyes for a sign she knew what I meant.

She gave me a fond look. "You make me smile when you're incoherent," she murmured, her eyes sparkling.

I let out a deep breath, my chest aching. "What I meant was, in short, I think your dad will be able to see things from your perspective. I think he'll understand."

She gave me a warm look, her eyes looking watery. "Thank you," she said quietly. She leant over to give me an affectionate kiss on the nose, and I beamed at her.

We were silent again for a while after that, both tired but neither wanting to sleep. It was too precious, this moment, and I never wanted it to end. I wanted to share everything with her. I wanted her to share everything with me.

"How long have you felt this way?" She asked me quietly, breaking through my thoughts. The question took me by surprise slightly, and I took a few seconds to answer.

"A while," I said at length. "I can't recognise any particular point at which I began to feel more than just attraction. I always thought you were beautiful, and there have been times when I've wanted to kiss you, but it wasn't, in my mind at least, something that had any particular deep feelings attached to it." I paused, before deciding to be truthful. "I fucking hated you. But then sometimes I wonder if part of that was down to frustration, frustration that I couldn't have you." I reached out again, delicately winding her hair around my fingers. "You have always managed to take my breath away," I said softly. "Whether it was with anger, or fear, or attraction, or infatuation. You always manage to get my heart racing."

She looked at me contemplatively for several moments, her lips curled up slightly at the corners and her eyes soft and warm. "I think it was…" she said slowly, her voice low. "The first I can remember is that day when we took Lena to the hospital." My stomach panged at hearing her name, and I saw a flash of grief cross Connie's eyes too. "When we sat with her all that time, talking, reassuring her, together. I felt such a connection to you, then. When we returned I felt like I knew you a lot better, I felt like we had crossed some invisible threshold and I knew that I would never look at you in the same way ever again. I felt this urge to be with you all the time, and of course that was unacceptable to me." She smiled self-consciously. "It angered me so much that everything you did made me smile, even just seeing you through my office window reading through some notes or talking with the other staff. I felt like screaming whenever I saw you. So I tried to put as much distance between us as possible." She paused, her eyes boring deep into mine. "It's funny how, sometimes, the thing you would do anything to avoid happening is the thing you want the most."

I let out a contented sigh. "I've never wanted anything as much as I've wanted you in a long time."

"Me neither."

I noticed her eyelids beginning to droop and my own were now feeling heavy. "We should sleep," she murmured. I felt for her hand beneath the quilt and locked our fingers together, nodding.

I closed my eyes sleepily, squeezing her hand tight. "Please be here when I wake up," I whispered, suddenly feeling emotional. She squeezed my hand back and I felt her lips on my forehead.

"I'm not going anywhere."

 **Please review and let me know your thoughts! x**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello everyone! I am so sorry I haven't updated this is so long, I've been loaded with school work and then I got inspiration for Mosaic Hearts and so started writing that instead, but I've got some of my inspiration back for this one now so hopefully I'll be updating both in future. It might be a while though as I have coursework due soon, but we'll see! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, please please please let me know your thoughts and feedback, it really does spur me on to keep writing. Also, anything in particular you would like to see explored in this fic is good too, as I'm always open to more ideas!**

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 _Song for this chapter: Only You by Yazoo_

When I woke the next morning, I was at first confused as to what was happening. The aftermath of my two bottles of wine on an empty stomach clouded my brain for several moments and I buried my head into my pillow, letting out a low groan.

"Good morning to you too," a sarcastic voice came from above me, and I froze. My heart hammered as I remembered the events of the night before and I relaxed into a grin, my cheeks beginning to turn pink.

"Good morning," I said into my pillow, unable to keep the joy out of my voice. Slowly, I lifted my head to look at her.

She was sat upright, leant against the headboard, wearing one of my dressing gowns and a smirk. It was apparent that she had been downstairs already, since she had fetched my other pillow and there was an empty mug of coffee on the bedside table beside her. My heart filled with warmth at this, the way she made herself at home. It made it feel more real, more everyday, almost like we were an old married couple. I wanted it to stay this way forever.

Carefully, I began to ease myself up until I was mirroring her position, not wanting to move too quickly for fear that my head would burst. Her hair was loosely tied up with a couple of strands hanging loose around her face and behind her ears. I wanted to touch it, to reach out and brush it out of the way of her face so that I could gaze at her, kiss her, but I was suddenly overcome with an awkwardness, a shyness, and didn't know quite how to go about it or where my boundaries were.

I didn't help that I was naked. I quickly reached down to pull the covers up around me, and saw her gaze drop to my disappearing skin as I did so, making me feel a little better about the situation. As her eyes reached my face I raised an eyebrow and I was her turn to blush. I decided to take a leap.

Taking a deep breath, I almost shakily reached out a hand to gently caress hers. She smiled warmly at me, sensing my discomfort, and turned her palm upwards so that she could link her fingers with mine. I beamed at her. I could see her trying desperately to keep her usual reservedness but the upturned corners of her mouth gave her away and as I leant over to kiss her I felt her grin against my lips.

With every breath I could feel the words on the tip of my tongue, 'I love you'. And with every breath I had to hold it back, so that my mind was now once constant stream of 'I love you, I love you, I love you'. I felt myself melt into her, all nervousness soon disappearing as I wrapped my arms tightly around her, like a child squeezes a teddy bear.

If I was to be entirely honest, I was unsure at first whether those all-consuming, almost sickening butterflies would continue now that I finally had her, or whether they would just fizzle away as one more thrill was crossed off my to do list, like hang-gliding or ski-jumping. It had often happened with the previous relationships I had had. I would be so desperately head-over-heels for someone that I wouldn't stop to consider the reality of a relationship with them, and when it came down to it, it was the thrill of the chase that had my head spinning, not them.

But this was different, wildly different, and as we made love for the second time in twelve hours, the thundering of my heart and the buzz of my brain told me that this was going to last. It was that strange, twisting feeling that you get when something absolutely brilliant happens, but in a way it's almost devastating at the same time. Like leaving school or setting up a pension. On the one hand, you are moving up in the world, moving forward, succeeding; but on the other hand, this could be the rest of your life, and only serves as a reminder just how short that length of time is, and how much you have left to do and to see. I'm quite familiar with these little crises.

Around two weeks later, I told her of these feelings. We were in the car on the way home from work and she was driving. I was feeling particularly emotional after the difficult death of a patient and I wanted comfort from her, but I didn't know quite how to go about it. After that first night, when she had confessed to me how she had truly felt, we hadn't really spoken much again in terms of emotion. Sure, we had spent more or less every night together. Connie had even come around one night after a surgical dinner, excusing herself prematurely and telling them that she had to be in work very early the next morning. But we stuck to superficial topics. It was almost small talk, really. Perhaps we were both afraid that with our matching fiery tempers anything deeper would cause an explosion.

Now, however, I couldn't hold it in, and all my thoughts and fears from the past week came spilling out. I didn't look at her as I spoke, kept my eyes forward as she drove onwards. I felt tight in my chest, and soon the words were coming out in an almost constant stream, and when I had finished I almost gasped for a breath.

She hadn't said a word throughout, and there was now a somewhat awkward atmosphere in the car. I steadied myself, reaching up to run a hand through my hair. When I eventually dared to cast a glance in her direction she was looking at me with something akin to wonder in her eyes.

"You know," she began, amusement in her tone. "I have been torturing myself over the very same thing." I widened my eyes in amazement and soon we had both burst into a fit of giggles. I felt a rush of relief pass through me, and the butterflies fluttered wilder than ever.

We were silent for a few minutes then, both contemplating each other and what the future held for us. I had a good feeling about it. I could see myself spending the rest of my life with her. But then, doesn't everyone think this when they enter into a new relationship?

"I love you?"

I stopped breathing for a moment. She had said it quietly, and with a questioning intonation, like she was afraid of the repercussions of saying it and so wanted to appear less powerful in her words. My heart thudded heavily in my chest, aching with the returned feeling.

She was looking at me again, her eyes wide and questioning, vulnerable. She looked so child-like, so beautiful in her uncertainty that I wanted to reach out and embrace her, protect her. Instead, I reached across for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I love you too."

Suddenly she braked hard, and I looked up in confusion at the red light ahead of us that she had just been about to power straight through as she was too busy looking at me to notice.

"Sorry," she muttered, quickly restarting the now stalled engine. I grinned at her and she smiled.

"I love you," I said again, taking advantage of the stopped traffic and pulling her across to me for a long, sensuous kiss.

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 **Please remember to review!x**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi everyone! I realise I haven't updated this in ages, but I had sudden inspiration for it the other day and here we are. Moving things on a bit with the plot now, so as always let me know your thoughts and ideas! Hope you enjoy x**

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 _Song for this chapter: I Only Want To Be With You by Dusty Springfield_

Five months on and, if I had been asked, I would have said confidently that I had found my soul mate. We were together always, and if not then it was never long until we were reunited. I have never in my life, even in my marriage, been so utterly absorbed in someone, had anyone become so completely me that I couldn't remember who I was before. Looking back, I suppose it was dangerous, putting my life on someone like that, but I wanted it, and I don't regret it. That, I will never deny.

I remember one night in particular, when we had been out for dinner together at some big posh restaurant in the city. I loved her so, so much that it made my chest ache. All night I could spend simply gazing at her, in all her radiant beauty. And the way she smiled back at me was so tender, so precious that I did everything I could to commit it to memory forever, every single time.

We decided to walk home; the cool midnight air slapped against my face as we walked through the roads sparkling with frost, making me feel dizzy and exhilarated. Everything felt so right, so carefree. We chatted on about work mostly, and about our plans for the next couple of weeks. Connie was at a conference the following Tuesday and Wednesday, and I would drive to pick her up that night as I was on an early shift that day and would no doubt be desperate to see her by then. The weekend after that we had planned a weekend away to Prague, but the CQC inspection had been brought forward to the Monday and so we thought we had better spend our time preparing for that.

"I was thinking we could maybe go somewhere like Morocco in the summer," she said happily as we began walking up her driveway. "Somewhere warm and anonymous. Maybe early September time? What do you think?"

I was speechless for a few seconds. That was nine months away, and if I'm completely honest I didn't really expect her to be planning that far ahead, in terms of our relationship, perhaps because I was still slightly insecure as to what she thought the future would hold for us, particularly as neither of us had told our families yet.

"Yeah. Yeah that sounds great," I spluttered finally, still somewhat taken aback.

"Really?" She looked at me with a slight frown as she fished about in her handbag for her keys. "You don't sound very sure."

"Yeah, I'm sure," I replied as she unlocked the door. "I just didn't realise you were thinking that far ahead, that's all."

"Are you not?" She said as she stepped through the door, waiting for me to pass through behind her before pulling it shut and fastening the latch. I got the impression she was trying to sound more nonchalant than she felt.

"Of course _I_ was," I said, kicking off my shoes and setting down my bag at the foot the stairs. "I just-"

"Didn't expect me to be?" She finished, looking up at me from unbuckling the strap on her heels with a glint in her eye, and I couldn't help but let a small grin tug at my cheeks.

"Yes," I confessed. She smiled at me knowingly, and I followed her into the kitchen.

The faint light of the wine chiller which sat upon the kitchen counter was all that illuminated the room, but it was enough. I watched as she reached up for two glasses from the cabinet, my eyes slowly roaming along the smooth curves of her body. I would never get used to this, being able to see her, touch her in a way that no one else could. It was like a dream; surely I would wake up soon.

Begrudgingly, I tore my eyes away from her to pick out the corkscrew from the drawer next to me as she pulled out a fresh bottle of Chardonnay from the chiller. I held it out to her as she came towards me, expecting her to open the bottle, but she took it from me and set it on the counter along with the bottle and glasses she had been holding and pulled me towards her, her hands reaching around my waist underneath my blazer.

Her eyes glittered in the dim light, her pupils wide and dark. She looked straight into my eyes, almost searchingly, imposingly, and I found myself glued to the spot, unable to look away.

"I can see the rest of my life with you," she breathed, so softly that if it weren't for the air tickling my nose I could have thought I had imagined it. "My every dream, every hope, every fear - you're there, every time. Always."

I was so taken aback by this sudden openness and show of feelings that I felt my chest tighten and my breathing speed up. Tears stung in my eyes and I could see that her eyes had become watery too. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe she was simply feeling more emotional than usual, but in that moment I saw only truth in her eyes, wide open and gleaming.

I rested my forehead against hers, my arms held loosely around the back of her neck, allowing my to pull her close.

"Me too," I whispered.

I saw a small smile of what appeared to be relief tug at the edge of her lips, and she leant forward for what might have been the most intense, sensual kiss of my life.

What happened to us? What went to terribly wrong that we ended up like we did? Did she really mean any of it?

But I know that she did mean it. That's what makes it so difficult to comprehend.

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 **Thanks for reading and please remember to review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**This is hella short, but it made more sense (in my head) to split this and the next chapter up. Really hope you're all still enjoying this - there will be more soon! xx**

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 _Song for this chapter: As the World Falls Down by David Bowie_

Although I didn't realise it at the time, looking back now I can see a clear divide, a turning point in our relationship which set us off on this miserable path.

Connie had long ago planned for Grace to come and stay with her for a week in April. I knew how she missed her dearly, and couldn't have been happier at the fact they were being reunited, no matter how briefly it was. We decided between us that it would be best that I stay out of the way for the visit, however difficult that may be, as Connie really needed to concentrate on her daughter and remind her how much she loved her so that maybe next time she would want to stay for longer. Connie had taken the entire week off work, shifting many of her duties over to Zoe for the duration. Everything was set up perfectly.

That was until the third night of their reunion, when she had rung me in the middle of the night, her words barely coherent over the sobs that consumed her.

"Connie, what the hell's going on?" I had almost yelled down the receiver, my heart racing in panic.

"It's Grace," she stammered. I had never heard her like this before, nor have I since. "She's… going… back to New York… in the morning."

"Oh, shit," I had replied, running a hand through my hair. I felt helpless, useless, and all I wanted to do was to go round there and sweep her up into my arms, protect her from all this forever. Maybe I should have done.

"What happened?"

I could hear her sharp intake of breath as she gathered the words, and the fresh sobs as she recollected the day's earlier events.

"We were in the middle of baking some of Grace's favourite muffins," she began, her voice uneven and her breathing jagged. "We'd just put them in the oven... I got a call from Henrik... I couldn't not take it; I knew he wouldn't ring unless it was an emergency." I heard her take a deep breath, in an effort to compose herself. "He was raging, Rita, really, really furious. The CQC inspection report came back, and the ED was at the bottom of the list. 'Inadequate'. So, naturally, he wanted a full account of what had happened the day of the inspection. And when I was done, I came back and I'd… I'd burnt Grace's muffins. She went ballistic, like I've never seen her before, said that still after everything I don't love her enough to leave my work alone for one week." A deep sob escaped her lips. "She said she hated me, Rita, and she… she says that after this she'll never want to see me again. I can't deal with that, I can't. I love her so, _so_ much, I..."

"Oh, Connie," I breathed, my heart aching. I felt quite tearful myself, just hearing her in so much distress and not being able to help her, to wrap her up in my arms and tell her over and over that it would be okay. In all honesty, I was at a loss for words. I didn't know how I could comfort her, in this state, and it was terrifying. To tell her it would be okay seemed pointless, irrelevant, impersonal, and I knew that she wouldn't believe me anyway.

"Maybe she'll feel differently in the morning," I said gently, my heart hammering. "Once she's had a decent sleep. She's bound to be jet-lagged, maybe that's what's made her grumpy."

I heard her sniff. "Audrey is coming to pick her up in the morning. She'll fly out in the afternoon. Sam texted me. He thinks I'm a waste of a parent too." A fresh sob burst out.

"You're not," I reassured softly. "You're not. I promise you. I would never tell you a lie, you know that. I think you simply do your best in a difficult situation. It doesn't always go right, but it will one day, I promise." I paused tensely, waiting for her reply.

She took a deep breath. "Maybe you're right," she said, her voice expressionless, monotone. She sounded utterly resigned in a way that broke my heart. "I'm going to go pack some of her things."

"Okay. I'll come round tomorrow afternoon straight after work. Try to get some sleep," I said warmly, steadying my own breathing. "I love you," I added.

But she had gone.

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 **Please remember to review! It keeps me going :) xx**


	12. Chapter 12

**Longer update than usual! I hope I got this right, things will start looking up soon! Enjoy xx**

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 _Song for this chapter: Under Pressure by Queen & David Bowie_

It breaks my heart, now, to look back and realise that whilst I planned a future she was crumbling, spiralling. I thought she would bounce back. I thought she had bounced back. How could I have been so blind?

After Grace left, there was a marked difference in her. I didn't see it at the time, but now I see it clear as day. She was quieter, more contemplative. She laughed less, and frowned more. And I didn't even notice until she was in too deep to be pulled out.

In the end it was Charlie who pointed out the obvious.

"Is Connie okay?" He asked one day, as I was sifting through some patient files.

"Yes," I had replied, blinking in confusion. "Why wouldn't she be?"

He frowned. "She's lost a lot of weight."

"I don't think she has," I said, but already I could feel the twisting in my stomach, the worry beginning. "What makes you think that?"

"Her clothes are hanging off of her," he pointed out. I froze. "I realise that you… see her every day, so it might be harder to notice, but she really doesn't look well."

I swallowed. "She's fine," I said confidently, though I didn't feel it in the slightest. I turned to look at him and he stared me in the eye for a few moments, looking as though he were about to say something else but then seemingly deciding against it, and picking up the next patient file.

"Okay," he said heavily. "If you're sure."

"I am," I said, more forcefully than I had meant. I took a deep breath, turning to apologise for being so short with him but he was already disappearing into a cubicle. Running a hand through my hair, I quickly resumed my work, trying to put our conversation out of my mind.

She came home late that night, and I noticed for the first time how she had been late a lot recently. She said that she had a sandwich from the canteen, and again I noticed how this had been a frequent occurrence over the couple of months or so. Worry gnawed at my stomach.

I was laid across the sofa watching the news, and she lifted my legs up to sit beside me, her cool fingers resting on my feet as we both watched in silence. Even through her trousers, I was suddenly painfully aware of how bony her legs now were, and it made me feel sick. She was my world, my everything, yet I failed to look after her, to protect her from this, whatever it was. Tears stung at the back of my eyes as I realised that Charlie had been right; she was fading away. How could I stop it? What could I have done?

I took a deep, steadying breath, squeezing my eyes shut as if to check that I was truly awake, before reaching for the remote and switching off the TV. She turned abruptly to look at me, confusion in her eyes, but all I could focus on was the sharp shadows of her cheekbones and the dark circles below her eyes.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently. There was a long pause in which she stared at me unblinkingly, as if stunned into silence by my question.

"Yes," she said slowly, looking away from me. "Yes, of course I am. What's brought this on?"

I looked away, clearing my throat. "I just... Charlie's worried about you." I hesitated. "I'm worried about you."

"What?" She asked, her voice strained with surprise at my sudden questioning. I hastily brushed away a stray tear from the corner of my eye then sat up, tucking my feet beneath me and positioning myself to face her.

"You're skin and bone," I began, somehow unable to make eye contact. "You're not eating. You look like you've not slept for a fortnight. You're just so... distant. Absent. You're in your head too much."

I risked a glance up to her and saw the shock on her features, but in her eyes was recognition, guilt; she knew what I was talking about.

"I... I'm not," she said quickly, attempting to brush it off but the thickness of her voice betrayed her. "I've just been busy, that's all. There have been a lot of new protocols, budget cuts..."

"Don't lie to me," I said bluntly, now staring her straight in the eye, letting her know that I saw everything there and she couldn't hide. The silence of the room around us was almost painful, all-encompassing and suffocating. My heart hammered and tightened, seeing the sorrow behind her eyes and all the fear which hid there. I could see, though, how she was frantically attempting to build back those cast-iron walls of hers, and my stomach lurched as I felt myself losing her.

But then she cried. Big, violent sobs bursting out of her like I had never heard before. Grief-stricken, heart-wrenching shrieks that filled the room as I held her tight to my chest, kissing the top of her head over and over as though it were giving her life. She clutched on to me, fingernails digging painfully through the fabric of my thin jumper and no doubt leaving little grazes behind them. My own eyes filled with tears in sympathy, hating how I had let her become like this, how I had failed to support her. She was so frail, so fragile in my arms that I was almost afraid that she would break.

"I failed her, Rita," she sobbed against my chest. "She's gone and it's all my fault. I'm her mother; that's supposed to be instinctive, isn't it? But I couldn't even do that…"

"Shh," I tried to settle her, rocking her back and forth in my arms. "It'll be okay. She'll cool off. You'll see her again."

"I failed," she murmured again, her breathing ragged. "I failed."

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, with her sobs slowly subsiding until she fell into a fitful sleep against me. I say fitful, but I think that was the last half-decent sleep I knew her to have.

She cried every night, after that, as if now she had started she didn't know how to stop. Despite my best efforts, there was nothing I could do to restore her appetite. It was as if she had given up not only on her daughter but on her life, and watching her slowly destroy herself broke my heart a thousand times over.

Paperwork became too much of an effort for her, and she began to get in trouble with the board. The department, despite mine and Charlie's best efforts, ran anything but smoothly; waiting times more than doubled, and our staffing levels were the lowest I have ever seen. Regularly, I tried to talk it out with her, to get her to see that she wasn't right, but still she continued to decline, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.

Through all this, though, I still saw love and affection, fondness fill her eyes as she looked at me, though it was now mixed with sadness and torment. Often, I thought she looked upon me almost pityingly, as though my unconditional love for her was both the best and the worst thing that she could conceive of. The fact that I cared so deeply comforted her, but at the same time caused her grief as she knew that there was nothing to stop her spiral. I myself began to lose sleep, staying up to soothe her to sleep, almost afraid that she wouldn't wake up, that her heart would give out with it's pain, just as Lena's had done.

We went to Morocco, despite everything, and a part of me felt as though that did her good, getting away from everything. But still her eyes were pained and her movements heavy. I tried to lift her out of it, to make her feel special and as loved as humanly possible, but even our sex life had become half-hearted. She was simply too exhausted by her feelings, though I could see in her eyes that she wanted it as much as I. I was running out of hope.

"Connie," I said to her gently, on night when we were having dinner out on the seafront and she had left yet another plateful. "This can't go on."

She looked up at me blankly, emptily, and nodded slowly. "I know," she whispered. "It's killing me."

I reached over to cup her hand. "You need to right things with Grace," I said insistently. She looked away, reaching up to the corner of her eye to wipe away a tear. All she could do was nod, and I continued tentatively. "I spoke to Sam this morning."

Her head snapped back towards me so quickly that she winced slightly. "What?"

"I called him up and told him how much you're struggling without Grace," I explained, trying to get her to look me in the eye but somehow she looked straight through me, her eyes glazed over with tears. "She misses you too. She doesn't want this either, not really."

"So what," she sneered, looking away and out to sea again. "She still doesn't want to come back to me, otherwise she would have called."

"Yes," I said gently. "But Sam said that that's because she thinks you don't want her. She thinks that you don't care." I paused for a moment, but she didn't say anything. "He suggested that you go and spend some time in the States, to minimise the disruption for her and show her the lengths you're willing to go to to be in her life. I've spoken to Hanssen, he says that the hospital would be more than happy to allow you a six-month sabbatical, full pay. What do you think?"

She looked at me in shock, blinking through tears as she tried to process what I had just said. "Sabbatical?" She said incredulously. "I can't just leave my life here. I'm needed here."

"You're needed by your daughter," I said firmly, giving her hand a faint squeeze as I did so. "And you need to put her first."

"And what about you?"

She looked straight into my eyes, the tears making them glimmer in the sunset and all that I saw there was love and fear. Fear of losing me. And it pains me to remember that.

"I'll be fine," I said, swallowing thickly. "I'll be here waiting for you when you get back, always, and it will hurt me to be apart from you for so long. But I'll get through it. You need to do this, otherwise you're going to kill yourself, and you know it."

She looked down at our joined hands. "I know," she whispered, after a long silence. "Let me think about it."

"Ok," I replied softly. "I've booked you flights for a fortnight after we get home. If you don't want to go, I won't force you, but I think you know that it's the right thing to do."

I gave her hand another squeeze, and I could tell by the way that she gripped it back that she had made her decision, and that in less than a month she would be jetting off to New York and I would be without her. Temporarily, I thought.

In the run up to her departure, she seemed to regain some of her energy. I could sense her excitement to be reunited with her daughter, and it lifted my heart slightly, though I was still with a heavy heart at the prospect of being without her. I knew it was for the best.

I don't know if it is simply hindsight distorting my memory, but, on the day before her flight, when she kissed me with a renewed passion for the first time since all of this had begun, I think I knew that she wouldn't be coming back. The way in which she touched me, slowly, sensually, and had watery eyes as we moved together, our breaths heated and heavy against one another, had a sense of finality about it which made my heart ache. She savoured every taste, every touch, and so did I. Still, I think back to the way that her body moulded perfectly against mine and remember every contact, imprinted on my memory forever. And as we both lay down to sleep, breathless and spent, my stomach twisting at what I knew was to come, she leant her head close towards mine, so that our foreheads where almost touching, and whispered over and over that she loved me, until she lulled herself to sleep.

And I couldn't help but allow silent tears to roll down my cheeks.

I drove her to the airport the next day. In the car we barely spoke, both consumed entirely by our thoughts, and when we finally arrived and she had checked in, I was glued to the spot as she said goodbye.

She pulled me towards her, crushing me against her and kissing me deeply and tenderly. "I love you," she breathed against my lips, her eyes remaining closed though a single tear leaked down her cheek.

"I love you," I whispered back.

She nodded slowly, kissing me again before leaning down to pick up her hand luggage and letting go of my hand as she left me, up the escalators and into the departure lounge.

I remember the sound of each click of her heels against the ground as her walked, each bounce of her curls and each swing of her hips. I remember every announcement that rang in my ears, each passenger brushing past me, the rattle of each luggage trolley.

I remember the way in which she paused at the top of the escalator, jolting slightly as if she were about to turn around, but then carrying on forward, out of sight.

I remember it all too well.

And I haven't seen her since.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and please do take the time to review, it really keeps me going and I'd love to hear your thoughts!xx**


	13. Chapter 13

**Another long chapter! Only a couple left to go now, four at a push I think unless I get carried away as usual. Thank you so much for your lovely feedback, some of it brings a tear to my eye it's so nice to hear! Enjoy xx**

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 _Song for this chapter: She Wolf (Falling to Pieces) by David Guetta ft. Sia_

At first, we spoke every day. She told me she missed me. I missed her more than words could possibly even begin to express.

We spoke on the phone for hours, until one of us was forced to hang up because of work or the need for sleep. I kept on telling myself that it was only for six months, but it didn't help. My gut felt heavy with the affliction of being apart and I felt as though I were constantly on the verge of tears.

Then the phone calls started to get shorter. There was always something that she had to get away for. Soon, only a couple of texts a day kept us in contact, and though I tried to believe her excuses of being too busy going on trips all over the country with Grace I knew in my heart that there was something wrong.

She was so distant, when we spoke, that it broke my heart each time, over and over. She stopped telling me how much she missed me, and when I told her that I missed her she would become quiet and uneasy, only a small 'you too' in response. I could feel her every day slipping further and further away from me, but I couldn't say anything for fear of ruining her time with her daughter. It was I who had told her that she was more important, after all.

Four and a half months into her trip and I was barely holding myself together. I felt like I couldn't breathe. The very thought of food made me feel sick and I couldn't sleep. She hadn't texted me for two days. Her last text had been a simple, _"Been out to the zoo with Grace today and am exhausted. Speak later. X"_. We were falling apart.

In a way, I resented Grace for what she had done to us. She had been the one to make Connie feel so worthless and depressed, with her brattish ways and her demanding attitude. It had been her who had made her so depressed, to the extent that I worried she might come to harm herself. It had been her who had forced this wedge between us, even though she no doubt was completely unaware of my existence.

But I knew that this was irrational. She hadn't done anything on purpose, simply needed to her mother, as all children do, and I couldn't blame her, so my fury turned to Connie for casting me aside like this. How could she cause me pain like this? I wished that I had never suggested that she go to the States, that I had resolved to pump her full of anti-depressants instead. I was bitter, frustrated, and it didn't go unnoticed.

Dixie managed to convince me one night to go for a long-overdue drink with her. It was as though everything else in my life had been put aside for Connie; my existence had become her. Perhaps that was why I was so lost without her. Even then, alone and hating her, I didn't want to see anyone else, but I had cancelled on Dixie so many times and had run out of reasonable excuses.

"Come on then, spit it out," she said after our second pint.

"Spit what out?" I asked nonchalantly, pretending not to know what she was talking about. I didn't want to talk about it. I felt like I would sound ridiculous, jealous of a woman's affections for her daughter. How could I compete with that? Her daughter must always come first.

"You're annoyed about something, I can tell," she coaxed, leaning her arms on the table and looking at me seriously. I looked away.

"It's nothing, I'm just missing Connie, that's all," I replied, taking a big sip of my lager. She stared at me sympathetically.

"It's not for much longer, remember," she reassured, giving me a comforting nudge with her shoulder. "And I'm sure she's missing you just as much."

"I wouldn't know," I said bluntly. "I haven't spoken to her in days."

She blinked with surprise at this. "Why's that?" She asked, concern in her voice. "Has something happened?"

"Not to my knowledge," I said, staring down into my glass. "She just stopped texting."

"Oh, mate," she sighed. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't be," I responded, again lifting my drink to my lips. My anger and frustration at her abandonment twisted in my stomach, and I took another large gulp of lager, hoping for the alcohol to kill everything I was feeling. With each moment that passed I hated her more and more. Why was she doing this to me? I squeezed my eyes shut.

After a few more drinks and several shots of tequila we decided to head to a club. The alcohol had made me feel light and free, and all I wanted to do was dance. We arrived and after a round of disgusting, probably more syrup than alcohol shots I was straight onto the dancefloor, throwing my head back and swaying in time to the music, dancing with anyone who happened to get close.

My head was swimming, my eyelids heavy and my heart hammering but that didn't stop me drinking more. I wanted to be completely devoid of all feelings - mental, emotional and physical - and dance until I could no longer stand. Each jump, each lyric belted out as loud as I could scream felt like I was beating her out of me, purging myself of all the frustration and anger she caused. I knew, deep down, that this was simply an illusion; I still loved her, was still longing for her, and knew I would feel it even more in the morning. But still I kept going. Drink. Dance. Drink. Dance. Drink.

"Rita," Dixie shouted over the crowd. "Come on, mate, you need to get some fresh air."

"I'm fine," I snapped, but her hand was firm on my arm and before I could gather my bearings, my head spinning and my eyes hazy, we were leaning against a wall outside of the club.

As soon as the cool air slapped onto my face, I began to realise just how drunk I was. I felt that distinctive rush of regret and heightened emotion which comes at this particular level of drunk and, uninhibited as the drink had made me, I couldn't hold it in. It felt like a white hot poker was being torn through my chest, tearing me apart. My lungs seemed to stop all function, and I couldn't seem to get my breath.

"Ay," Dixie said softly, putting an arm around my shoulder as I buried my face in my hands, the first sobs starting to escape.

"Why is she doing this to me?" I wailed, my body jerking violently with my tears. I felt rage, anger, resentment, spite. "I fucking hate her. I _fucking_ HATE HER!"

I yelled so loud that my throat hurt, and the bouncers eyed us warily. I knotted my fingers in my hair, tugging painfully as I tried so desperately to take out my anger. I wanted to kick something. My limbs felt jumpy and restless, like they were desperate to run. But where could I run to? I couldn't escape this feeling. It was here always, and even the drink hadn't stopped it. I felt such pain, such anguish that I almost wondered if I was dying. The floor beckoned and I felt like collapsing and never getting up again, give up on existence.

"No you don't," Dixie soothed, rubbing my back with her palm. "Come on, you're just upset. Let's get you home."

"I don't want to go home," I spat. "I don't want to go anywhere near that bitch. I can't stand anything to do with her, if this is how she's going to be."

"She's probably just busy," Dixie said, lifting my head to look me in the eye. "I think you're reading too much into this. What is it, like five days since you last spoke? You don't know anything for sure."

But I did know. I knew her too well, even though we were thousands of miles apart, and I knew that something was wrong. She didn't love me any more. Had she even loved me in the first place? Had the whole thing just been a fantasy, wishful thinking that what we had was something special? I felt so painfully alone.

The next thing I knew, I had pressed my lips painfully hard against Dixie's, my face still wet from tears and my breaths sharp and shallow from sobbing. She pushed me away almost instantly, and I tried again, desperate for anything to take me away from these feelings, to detach me from Constance Beauchamp.

"No, Rita," Dixie said firmly, holding me at arms length away from her. "You don't want this. You know you don't, not really."

I closed my eyes. "I do want it," I whimpered, more trying to convince myself than her, but my voice broke. Fresh tears poured out, fresh sobs wracked my body, and the guilt was crushing.

"I love her, Dix," I wept, clinging to her now as her arms enveloped me. "I don't want to be without her. I can't do it."

"I know," she said softly. "I know. It'll be alright."

"It won't," I sobbed. I could feel bile rising in my throat; the aftermath of all those syrupy shots. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth and the world twisted around me. The familiar clamminess came over me, consuming me as the blood rushed out of my face, alerting me in just enough time for me to turn away from Dixie and lose my stomach contents against the wall of the club.

I don't remember how we got home after that; I doubt any taxi would have taken me, but I woke up in my own bed with a large glass of water, some painkillers and a bucket, which turned out to be well needed as the moment I tried to sit upright I was gagging again, my head pounding and my stomach flipping. I felt numb, but not necessarily in a way that I wasn't feeling anything; I was feeling too much to process. I thought of Connie, all those miles away in America, without me, and I cried again, burying my face in my pillows almost suffocatingly as I turned away from the cold, empty other side of the bed.

When I checked my phone, she still hadn't texted me. I had a message from Dixie telling me to text her when I got up and let her know I was okay, but that was all.

I heaved a large sigh, sending a quick message to Dixie before going downstairs for some dry toast and a sugary cup of tea to try and soothe my stomach. It was my day off, so I decided to spend the day on the sofa with a blanket and some trashy reality shows. I was tired, but didn't feel able to sleep, so just stared blankly at the screen, my mind never moving away from my situation.

About half past five, I got a reply from Dixie. _Call her_ , it said. I bit my lip, nerves twisting in my stomach. Did I really want to hear what she had to say?

I paced the living room, my finger hovering over her number on my phone, my heart hammering in my chest. Maybe I could bargain with her, convince her that she was just feeling this way because she was so far away and would feel different once she was back. We could both try harder to spend time together; we could video call, or I could even go and spend a few days over there with her. Anything was possible in this day and age.

I wondered what she was doing, right now. They were six hours behind us, so she'd maybe be having lunch around now, although she usually at it a bit late around three o'clock. Had she changed in her absence? Maybe when she returned we would fall out of love anyway, with her adapted to life in the States so much that she was beyond recognition to me. Could that happen? Could I really stop loving her?

My stomach lurched as I came to the realisation that I couldn't. My love for her ran too deep, so deep that she could confess to being a mass murderer and I would still look upon her as my life and my light. It's damaging, dangerous having this outlook, this reliance on another human being, and I realise it now, but then I couldn't see it; I could only see her.

Eventually, my hands were trembling so much that I pressed the button involuntarily, and I jumped as I realised that I was now being connected to her, across all those miles; this was it.

I cleared my throat, standing up straight and taking a deep breath, steadying myself. _It won't be as bad as you think._

"Hello?"

"Hey, Con, it's me."

"Oh, hi, Rita," she said quickly. "I wasn't expecting your call."

"Sorry," I apologised falsely. "We just haven't spoke in a while. I wondered if you were alright?"

I heard her take a deep breath, and closed my eyes, willing myself to block it all out.

"I'm not," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I said softly. "What's happening?"

"I'm really, really sorry."

My stomach dropped. This was really happening, and for a moment my mind went blank in disbelief.

"I'm going to stay over here. Long term."

And there it's was. The separation that I had foretold. But I was now numb to it, almost oblivious to what she was trying to say.

"Okay," I said slowly. "Well, I'm sure I can manage. Maybe I can come over and see you some time. We'll be okay."

"No," she said, sighing. "We won't."

Nothing could have prepared me for what came next.

"Sam and I, we're decided to give it another go. It's what's best."

I froze. "What's best for who?" I stammered, incredulous. "Is this what you want?"

"I want my daughter to be happy," she replied firmly. "And I need to do what's best for her."

"And what about you?"

She was silent for a few moments and I held my breath. Was this really what she wanted?

"I'm sorry to tell you like this," she said, her voice straight and even, firm, as she was when delivering bad news to a patient. "There'll me a courier arrive for my stuff on Monday."

"Connie, you can't do this, this isn't fair," I pleaded, my legs failing me and collapsing onto the sofa. "You don't want this."

I heard her hesitate.

"I do."

The line went dead. I couldn't even remove the receiver from my ear. Despite my doubts, I was shell-shocked. We were done. Finished. This was the end.

And I felt nothing. Everything was numb, cold. Time seemed to stand still, and the world hasn't been turning since. I couldn't hate her, I couldn't. I couldn't feel anything. I was shattered, in pieces. I had lost my life source, and I didn't know how I could function without her. Everything was destroyed.

I dropped my phone to the floor, not caring about the sickening crack it made, and lay down on the sofa, face down on the scratchy fabric and stayed there until my alarm alerted me that it was time to get up for work the next day. I hadn't slept though, just stared mindlessly into the intricate stitches before me.

Fallen to pieces.

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 **Thanks for reading and please review, they really do help me to keep writing xx**


	14. Chapter 14

**Trying something different this chapter, and giving an insight into Connie's thoughts for a change! I've never done anything like this before, so please do feed back! Enjoy x**

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 _Song for this chapter: Over You by Roxy Music_

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 _Dear Rita,_

 _There are no words that can sum up what I want to say to you. How could it? Language, as powerful as it is, still cannot even closely describe my feelings._

 _I love you. As far as I can see, I always will. I'm sorry that it is not enough to keep us together._

 _After coming out here, seeing the true impact of my absence on my daughter's life, it's impossible to tear myself away. I think about all the messed up kids from broken homes that we see every day, and I look at her, and I can't bear it. I need to give her stability._

 _And that's why I can't return home to you - and believe me that when I say 'home' I mean it. I have never felt so at peace with anyone as I have with you, but I can't keep putting myself first. Things need to change._

 _I'm sorry._

 _Connie_

* * *

 _Dear Rita,_

 _I miss you so much; it's like a knife to my gut. Everywhere I look I see you. I wish you were here. I wish things weren't like this. I wish I had a way out._

 _Grace is more happy than she's ever been, I can tell, and part of that fills me with elation. But at the same time, I wonder whether it is truly good for her to have a mother who is so deeply unhappy, so tormented. She doesn't seem to notice, but I know all too well just how these things can radiate from a person, even though they don't realise it._

 _America is great. I mean, I had no problem finding a job, and my colleagues are all wonderful. Not that I often socialise with them outside of work. Sam says I should lighten up a little, that I should get over my hostility and coldness towards others; I know that you would understand why I can't._

 _Do you remember, all those months ago, when we were still hiding our relationship, when we drove down to Weston-super-Mare for a weekend together. We had stayed in that unfortunate bed and breakfast, with damp carpets and no central heating. I had wanted to get a room and the five star in the centre of town, but you were having none of it. You wrapped your arms around me, kissed me on the lips in a way that made my head spin and dragged me down to bed, and it was so cold in that room and so dreary outside that we spent a whole three days wrapped up in that duvet, taking it in turn to brave the icy air to collect the room service as it arrived. And despite all that, I think it was the best holiday of my life; I was so content. I lost count of how many times I told you I love you, and even more the amount of times that I thought it. I'd watch you, as you dozed, and feel my heart swell as it never has before in my life. If I'm honest, thinking of you, it often still does. But you always understood why I found things like that so difficult, and you always took the care to comfort me, to put me at ease. You always brought me back down to earth; you humanised me. I need you, Rita, but I'm so trapped. I hope that you can understand, someday._

 _I love you._

 _Connie_

* * *

 _Rita,_

 _Today I'm really feeling it, and I can't seem to drag myself out. It's like a cloud of soot, covering me, consuming me. I'm suffocating._

* * *

 _Dear Rita,_

 _I'm determined to be happy here now. I need to be. The past couple of weeks I have been more than out of sorts, and both Sam and Grace have noticed. But it's not like it was with you; when you confronted me, I could see understanding, and I could let you in. I wanted to let you in. With Sam, however, I just don't have the faith. We are not connected as you and I were, and never will be._

 _I know you have probably moved on by now, and I'm glad. You deserve someone who can give you all the things you deserve, all the things that I can't. And I will be happy here. It's just going to take time._

 _Love,_

 _Connie_

* * *

 _Dear Rita,_

 _We're getting married. He asked, and I agreed. I can't not. This is for Grace._

 _I can't believe how I've lost myself like this. I am an empty shell. Once upon a time I wouldn't have dreamt of giving up my own happiness for anyone - family or not._

 _I'm fading._

 _Connie_

* * *

 _Rita,_

 _I can do this. I have the strength. I'm going to walk up to that altar, and I'm not going to look back. I can do it._

* * *

 _Rita,_

 _I take it back. I know that in my heart I will always be waiting for you, waiting for any slight chance that we may be reunited. Every day I remember what we had, and I hold on to it. I will do forever._

 _I'm going to figure out how we can make this work. I need to. What use am I to my daughter, broken as I am?_

 _I'm coming back to you._

 _Connie_

* * *

 _Dear Rita,_

 _I don't know what is going through my head at the moment. Every day I seem to switch back and forth between my pining for you and my desire to be the best mother that I can. Which to choose? Is there a way out?_

 _I fear not._

 _Connie_

* * *

 _Dearest Rita,_

 _The wedding is in three weeks. All Sam's friends and family are flying over. I can't back out now._

 _This is where it all ends._

 _Connie_

* * *

 _Rita,_

 _Who am I trying to kid?_

 _My heart is breaking._

* * *

I take a deep breath, slowly closing shut the diary that has allowed me to stay sane for all these months. But now it isn't enough. I stare down blankly at the plane ticket in my hands. Tomorrow. 11:30pm. I know that it will never be used, that my seat will be vacant. I can't leave my daughter again.

Can I?

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 **Please let me know what you think!x**


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